Tension

I was trying to bundle the final notices,

the ones with the red ink on the face.

I grabbed a brown loop from the kitchen drawer

to keep the pile in its proper place.

I pulled it taut and saw the white cracks

veining the rubber like a dry, desert floor.

It happened fast—a sharp, stinging snap

that left a red welt and a mess on the floor.

I’m standing here holding the two limp ends.

It wasn't meant to stretch this far for this long.

I thought it was holding, I thought it was strong,

but everything snaps if you don't make amends.